


So Fancy

by RoughDraftHero



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughDraftHero/pseuds/RoughDraftHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Prompt: Arthur/Merlin, modern AU</p><p>Merlin is a busboy or dishwasher at the fancy restaurant in the super fancy & luxurious hotel owned by the indescribably rich Uther Pendragon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt (http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/35114.html?thread=37100842#t37100842) on the Merlin kink meme.

"Your shoes are wrong."

Merlin is just barely able to dodge a man carrying a tall stack of fresh towels passing by in the narrow hallway, and jogs to keep up with the hotel's kitchen manager. "Excuse me?"

The manager, an older man who had introduced himself with a gruff "Gaius," came to an abrupt halt, turning to look at Merlin. "You need professional quality slip resistant shoes, so you don't go and break your neck, understand?"

Merlin straightens his back, folding his hands behind him. "Uh, yes."

Eyeing him, Gaius lets out an amused huff. "The catalogue's in the break room."

"There's a catalogue for professional quality slip resistant shoes?" Merlin asks with a quirked smile, but Gaius is already moving forward, pointing at doorways and barking that Merlin isn't allowed past them.

He can tell they're nearing the kitchen just from the delicious smells wafting down the hallway, but it's the shouting and clanking that has him trailing slightly behind Gaius, who was still talking. "Our last guy got burned too much, so it's regulation that you wear rubber gloves now."

Merlin tries to pay attention, even as they've entered a room bustling with frantic chefs.

"We used to have four men manning the machine, one for silverware, but whoever unloads now will have to handle that and the rest—don't walk there!"

Jumping back, Merlin is wide-eyed as a chef appears seemingly out of nowhere, pushing a rolling cart almost four heads taller than he is down the aisle. And then Merlin feels a sharp whack on the back of his head, and turns around to stare disbelievingly at Gaius.

"This—" Gaius points down the aisle between the three industrial sized ovens, and the gigantic prep table, "—is not for dishwashers."

"Right..." Merlin breathes, inching away from the forbidden zone.

With a snap of his fingers, Gaius gestures for them to resume. Turning the corner, Merlin is hit with a sudden wall of steam and humidity. "This will be your domain," Gaius says, sounding just a tad gleeful.

It becomes apparent where all the clanking has been coming from. Inside the room is a humongous L-shape machine pushed up against a moldy wall, covered in condensation. A conveyer belt rolls large trays of dirty dishes into the machine, and then spits them out perfectly sanitized.

A boy stands, small hose attached to a faucet in his hand, spraying the dishes before they go through. Racing around the room is a young woman, grabbing the clean dishes and darting around to place them on the right racks. When there's a pause in the line, she leans against the machine with a heavy sigh.

"Freya, Mordred," Gaius says. They both look up. "This is Merlin, he'll be your third man."

"And our fourth man?" Mordred replies, dropping the hose on a hook, and crossing his arms.

Gaius just shrugs, "You know I try to talk to Mr. Pendragon about the short staff, when I can. But he's a quite busy right now. Anyway, train the new boy, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mordred replies, turning back to his work.

It's Freya who nods at Merlin. "So, you done any kitchen work like this before?"

Merlin glances to Gaius, but he's already walking away, and then looks back at Freya. "Well you know, summer things at Denny's and stuff."

He hears Mordred let out a sharp laugh, and Freya's smiling. She pushes off the machine, grabbing the next set of plates to come out. "Yeah well, that's good enough, I guess. But double it by about four hundred, and then you'll understand where we're at." She drops the stacks of plates with the rest on their racks, and returns to the machine. "We usually switch jobs with each shift, so you'll be loader now."

"Uh, loader?"

Freya nods towards the other end of the machine, where Merlin sees a chute open in the wall. "Mordred's been picking up the slack since I have to keep my hands clean. So, you take over."

"Sure," Merlin replies quickly, trotting to the chute. He stands there for a moment, wondering what's supposed to happen, when he hears a clattering sound. Bending over, he tries to see up the chute, when suddenly a cascade of dining ware comes shooting down, landing on the dirty, soggy conveyer belt, and sending nasty food water splashing on Merlin's face.

Mordred snorts, and he doesn't even try to hide it.

"Yeah, well," Freya says, "Probably don't try to look into the chute."

Wiping at his face, Merlin sighs.

—

He's tired.

He's not sure which sucks the most—loader, sprayer, or unloader, but they all really do suck. The skin of his arms is splotchy pink from all the burning hot water landing on them from unloading, he's got unidentifiable gunk in his hair from loading, and what should have been pretty easy—giving the dishes a light spray before sending them through—actually meant his pants were soaked right in the crotch.

Sitting on a bench in the employee changing room, he twists around, trying to work the kinks out of his back.

But he needs the job, was ecstatic when he learned he was hired. Sure, dishroom is the lowliest position, but it's only a matter of time before he could work his way up to food prep, which is legitimate kitchen time in the eyes of the culinary institute.

With that thought fueling him, he stands up and undoes his fly, stepping out of his drenched pants. Thankfully, it was only the shoes he wasn't informed about. Gaius had been clear when he called Merlin to offer the position, he would need two sets of clothes. He drags his shirt off, bundling it up, and reaching down to grab the pants.

He hears the door open, and looks up.

"Oh, ah..."

Lip curling in a smile, Merlin straightens. Standing in the doorway is a blond hunk. He's still got his hand on the doorknob, leaning into the room with his eyebrows raised, and his eyes definitely not on Merlin's face.

"You lost?" Merlin asks … and maybe there's a playful lilt to his voice.

The blonde's eyebrows raise even more at that, and then he grins, walking fully into the room. "Just taking a look around." His grin turns a little wicked. "Just seeing what the hotel has to offer, and all that."

So, he's an entitled guest who didn't pay attention to 'Employee Only' signs. Merlin already kind of suspected it, what with the fancy clothes the blond is wearing. Maybe Merlin would have been more annoyed, but this is his first day and he isn't exactly feeling territorial about the locker room yet.

Also, if the blond hadn't fled at Merlin's suggestive tone, and is still standing at full swagger with Merlin raking his eyes up his body, then Merlin certainly isn't going to be the one to kick him out.

"What's your name?" Merlin asks, crossing his arms. He realizes he's standing in his underwear, and mostly he's glad he chose one of his less fraying pairs that day.

The blond cocks his head, his grin widening. Before answering, he looks behind himself, and then shuts the door with a click. Turning back around, he says, "Arthur. You?"

"Merlin."

And Merlin can see the scoff bubbling up, but Arthur obviously makes some herculean effort to suppress it. Instead, he takes another step towards Merlin. "That's new."

Merlin leans back against the cold lockers, hands curling at his sides. He watches Arthur inch towards him, their eyes locked. Suddenly, the weariness from an entire shift doing dishes is gone, and his body is buzzing with nervous energy.

"I'm kind of gross right now," he says, in that fake-protesting voice that he always found so annoying when used by anyone else, but there it is.

Arthur seems to like it, his eyes glinting. "There's a pretty great shower in my room."

Well, Merlin thinks, soggy food water aside, this job has some perks.

—

Arthur wasn't exaggerating.

After riding the elevator up an alarming amount of levels, all the while keeping his hood up and his face down, lest he start any bad rumors on his first day, Merlin was led to a double-door room, which somehow impressed upon him that he should have put more thought into this whole thing before agreeing to it.

But then he saw the shower, and that thought was lost.

It's the size of his entire bathroom and then some, for one thing. There are nozzles on both walls, and a panel on one side that oscillates water up and down his body.

Well, their bodies, actually.

He isn't really paying attention to the water. More like he's shoved up against the tiling, Arthur's tongue in his mouth, and Merlin's leg up, foot sliding down Arthur's calf. Arthur has him caged in, arm by Merlin's head.

Pulling back, Arthur licks water from his lips, his eyes flashing with want. Merlin's a little frozen, to be honest, not expecting Arthur's bum-rush to take a dominant role. But then Arthur grazes Merlin's throat with his fingers, leaving a trail of condensing water drops in a line down Merlin's chest.

So, it's not like Merlin's complaining. But he also doesn't like going down without a fight.

Fluidly moving forward, he runs his tongue across Arthur's lips, and then wraps his arm around Arthur's neck, pulling him in. He hears a pleased groan, and grins against Arthur's mouth.

"This is a good end to a first day," Merlin mumbles, breath hitching when Arthur decides to pay attention to his cock. Fingers dance up the length and down again, squeezing the tip. Merlin swallows, now hanging on to Arthur's neck to support himself rather than to keep Arthur in place.

"First day, huh?" Arthur says, in a humoring tone, like Merlin's sure picking a hell of a time to be having a conversation. "Me too."

Merlin's about to ask for what, but his priorities change when Arthur suddenly gropes his ass in a tight squeeze, pulling Merlin to arch up against him, and then slides his hand down, inching in between Merlin's cheeks.

"Uh..." Merlin laughs, "Kinda presumptuous, aren't you?"

Arthur's answer is to grab Merlin's shoulder, spinning him around and pushing him chest first against the tiles. Merlin opens his mouth to voice a protest when lips start sucking on the back of his neck.

An arrogant dick, this one, Merlin thinks.

This kinda hook-up has it's time and place, and, frankly, the time and place is now. Merlin is still tired from the day, and if Arthur wants to lead, well...hell, Merlin will leave him all the heavy lifting. Raising his arms, he braces against the wall, spreading his legs a bit.

There's an appreciative whistle behind him. A playful swat lands on his ass.

Drawing in a breath, cheeks flushing, he channels the hot indignation into horniness, his cock getting hard. "You got a condom?"

Arthur chuckles, and a hand slides up Merlin's back. "Of course." Merlin hears tearing, and his heart rate amps up. From the corner of his peripheral vision, he sees Arthur grab a bottle of something, pouring it into his hand.

It's been awhile since someone's been in him, and Merlin tenses up against the first finger. "Relax," Arthur murmurs, petting at Merlin's side. He tries again, and this time Merlin keeps his breathing even as a second finger shoves in. Gentle kisses are pressed against his back.

Groaning, he starts moving against Arthur's fingers without realizing it. It's good, the ache in his muscles melting with each thrust that hits just the right spot.

"You're ready," Arthur declares breathlessly, pulling his fingers out. Merlin isn't able to stifle a whine at the sudden emptiness.

"Don't worry," Arthur laughs, "I've got what you want right here."

And he pushes in, shoving as deeply as he can, Merlin sucking in a tight breath as he's breached. His fingers curl, his head dropping. Arthur clasps his waist, thrusting in and in, and back out at a rough pace. He circles Merlin's cock with his hand, jacking in a broken, frantic rhythm.

He wraps his other arm around Merlin, crushing down against them until his back is flush against Arthur's chest. Feeling nibbling at his ear, Merlin lets loose another moan, his legs failing as Arthur pounds him. "Wow," he pants, "Oh, wow."

Arthur tenses against him, grunting through clenched teeth. He does lose his pace jerking of Merlin for a moment, but then he's back, bringing Merlin to completion.

Gasping, Merlin straightens up, heat curling through him. He slumps against Arthur's chest, who supports his weight with ease.

—

Letting Arthur get all aggressive with him apparently means that afterwards, Merlin has to sit back against Arthur's chest on the floor of the shower, their legs stretched out in the ample room, and let Arthur slide a soft wash towel up Merlin's chest with delicate care.

Merlin's been through worse things.

He wants to ask what it was Arthur does for a living to be able to afford such a nice room, but instead he asks, "How long are you in town for?"

"Mmm, awhile, I'd say."

Nodding, Merlin glances down, watching Arthur wipe at his belly. Arthur's chin is arched over Merlin's shoulder, and occasionally he would press little kisses against Merlin's temple. "What about you?" Arthur asked.

"Ah, well, I need the hours mostly." A silent beat passes, and then he clarifies with, "I want to apply for this program at a culinary institute, but you need a set number of kitchen hours for them to even look at you."

"Ahhhh," Arthur says, voice warm, "So you want to be a chef."

"Yeah, but that's a long ways off. Gotta move my way out of the dishroom."

"You know, I could help you with that—"

There's a knock at the door, and they both freeze. A moment passes, and then there's another knock. "Arthur, are you in there?" a man's voice asks.

"Oh, great," Arthur mutters. "You'd better hide." Scrambling up, they step out of the shower, and Arthur tosses a dry, fluffy towel at Merlin, wrapping another around his own waist. "Just stay in here, and it'll be fine."

"What will be fine—" Merlin just starts to get out, but Arthur opens and slips through the door.

There's low tones on the other side of the door, but Merlin can't make out what they're saying. He shifts back and forth on his feet, acute embarrassment sinking in. Rather than being caught naked, he decides to pull his clothes on.

He's just zipping up his fly when Arthur opens the door, his expression pinched with annoyance. "Haven't been back one day, and it's bitch, bitch, bitch."

Merlin cocks an eyebrow, and Arthur seems to catch himself. He ruffles his hair, lip curling in a grin. But then he notices Merlin's state of dress, and frowns. "You leaving?"

"Uh, yeah?" Merlin replies, angling past Arthur back into the main part of the hotel room. Something catches his arm, and he looks down to see Arthur's hand clasped around it. Glancing up, he raises his eyebrows at Arthur.

"We could have some more fun tonight," Arthur says, trying to pull Merlin a little closer. "You can crash here, be bright and chipper for work tomorrow."

It's tempting. Merlin glances at the hotel room doors, and then back at Arthur. "Sure I won't need to hide in the bathroom again?"

Arthur, at least, has the good grace to look contrite, but it's over the top as he gives Merlin puppy-dog eyes. "That really was for your benefit more than anything," he says, "Honestly, I would have been fine with him seeing you."

"Him—"

But once again, Merlin is cut off when Arthur kisses him fully. Pulling away, Arthur grins. "You really gonna leave now?"

And Merlin is defeated.

—

He's up and out before Arthur wakes up, sprinting down the hallway and keeping his head low any time a staff member passes by. He has to go outside the hotel through the front entrance, and then circle around back to the one for employees.  
There's a girl there in a concierge uniform, leaning against the wall and taking a smoke. When she catches sight of Merlin, she smiles. "You the new dishwasher?"

"Yeah," Merlin replies, trying to straighten out his hair with his fingers.

"My name is Gwen." She holds out her hand, and Merlin is treated to a firm shake. "Just a word of advice, a hood only causes suspicion."

Merlin blinks. "Excuse me?"

Gwen just smiles some more, shrugging.

Inside, Merlin darts around all the busy staff, weaving his way through the hallways until he hits the locker room. His work clothes are still there, and hopefully dry at the least.

Mordred is changing when Merlin walks in, and he pauses, taking a long look at Merlin. And then he snorts, pulling his shirt on. Confused, Merlin opens his mouth to greet Mordred, but something seems particularly off. So he lands on a pointed "What?"

Mordred looks up. And then he sighs. "All I'm saying is, whatever you do on your off hours is your own, but you had to know how this would look, right?"

"How what would look?" Merlin asks quickly. Mordred shoots him a don't-treat-me-like-an-idiot expression, and Merlin licks his lips. "Look, it can't be that heinous, right? It's just sleeping with someone staying at the hotel, it's not like I was paid or anything."

Narrowing his eyes, Mordred considers Merlin. "You don't know, do you?"

Ah good, a twist of apprehension in his stomach. "Know what?"

"I mean, that makes sense. Yesterday was your first day." Mordred breaks out into a laugh. "Man, this is going to be so fun to watch."

Merlin turns away from him to put on his own uniform. "People aren't...are they really going to judge me for this? Is that what you're saying?"

"You'll see."

Looking around, Merlin scowls at Mordred, but he's already walking out the door.

—

Then it's the prep cooks giggling at him, and the waiters passing by all gawk. Freya starts laughing the second he walks into the dishroom before Mordred practically bounces over to her to crow, "He doesn't even know."

This actually seems to pull Freya up short, her smiling fading. When she looks at Merlin, there's a hint of pity. "Bad luck of the draw, then."

"What does that mean?" Merlin exclaims, "Can someone just tell me what's going on?"

Mordred is tying a plastic apron on, standing at the sprayer. "Just get to work."

"And hurry," Freya cuts in, "We're getting a 'surprise' inspection from the big guy."

"Big guy?" Merlin echoes. But he's ignored as Mordred opens a panel on the side of the machine, and pushes the red button that heats up the water. Freya's already standing at attention at the chute, so Merlin leans up against the exit side of the conveyer belt, his stomach a mess of nerves.

Maybe Arthur is someone famous? Or...a VIP guest? His room is really nice. Or maybe he's some weirdo who preys on new employees? Like a weird hazing thing?

Well, Merlin wouldn't call it preying, since he initiated the flirting, but...

A half-hour of these panicked thoughts passes, Merlin on auto-pilot as he runs around putting all the clean dishes away. For the most part, the dishroom is quiet except for the clank of the machine, the gushing of burning hot water, and a staticy radio Freya turned on at the beginning of shift. Occasionally, Merlin would catch Mordred sneaking a gleeful smirk at him.

He's so distracted, that he doesn't notice a group of people enter the room, almost running right into one of them, and dropping all the plates on the ground. It's Gaius who catches his arm. "Whoa there," Gaius says, sounding amused. "Gotta pay attention in here."

"Sorry," Merlin mumbles, backing up.

The people with Gaius are all wearing suits. There's two men and a woman, but the older man is the one stands out while the other two stand at attention behind him, clipboards in hand. He's staring passively down at Merlin, hands folded behind his back. "You were saying the dishroom is understaffed, Gaius."

"It is, Uther."

Uther. Uther Pendragon. Then this is the owner of the hotel.

"Seems to me, things are running fine."

"You've got three people doing the dishwashing for 1,000 rooms, and one very, very popular restaurant!" Gaius says.

"But not every guest orders room service," lady with the clipboard cuts in with a clipped tone. Uther turns his head just slightly to her, as if considering what's she's saying.

"It's not like you can't afford one more man," Gaius growls.

Merlin inches away. This has nothing to do with him, and he can see from the corner of his eye that the trays of clean dishes are almost about to hit the end of the conveyer belt. He's not one foot from them when he hears, "You'll have to take it up with my son, Gaius, I'll be leaving him in charge of the background service staff."

"What—" Gaius splutters, "Arthur?"

And that's when Merlin's blood curdles. Because everything falls into place. He can see the flash moment of Mordred looking over his shoulder, probably to catch Merlin's reaction. Keeping his composure, Merlin grabs dishes and starts darting around again.

"Yes, he's done with his studies."

"But, he's—he's—"

"He's what?" Uther's tone is cold.

"He's a spoiled brat," Freya whispers in Merlin's ear as he passes her.

"I do understand, Uther, I understand that eventually he will take over. But to start him off with such a big responsibility."

"He'll rise to the occasion."

Merlin tunes out the rest of it.

He slept with the owner of the Camelot Hotel's son.

He's an idiot.

—

"You should have seen your face!" Mordred laughs, wiping a tear from his eye.

They're back in the changing room, it's the end of the day. Mordred had changed as quickly as possible the day before, rushing out of the room without so much as a goodbye, but today he's hovering around Merlin and cackling. "I thought you were going to crawl right into the dish machine." 

"I wanted to," Merlin mutters, pulling his clothes out of the locker with jerky movements.

"It's too good, it's too good." Mordred crossed his arm, and rests against the locker next to Merlin's. "I've never seen him, actually, it was one of the sous-chefs who was blabbering on about seeing the two of you in the lobby."

"Yeah?" Merlin replies weakly.

"He's been at school for the past few years, left before I started working here. But everyone knows he's a giant ass."

Merlin slaps his forehead, rubbing his hand down his face. "Please stop," he groans. "It was just a one-time thing."

"Was it?"

This voice is not Mordred's. And Merlin can see Mordred has gone stark white. He slowly looks around to see Arthur standing in the doorway, wearing a fancy suit, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His lips are quirked in a wicked smile. "You didn't even leave a note," he says, "Quite rude."

Mordred makes a gurgling sound, and then ducks away, leaving Merlin alone with him.

"Uh..." Merlin trails off intelligently. He gulps, and quickly finishes changing without saying anything, the backs of his ears burning because he can just feel Arthur's eyes on him. When he's done, he straightens up. "That was kind of a dick move," he says finally.

There's a chuckle behind him.

"I'm serious," Merlin says, turning around. "You knew it was my first day! You knew I didn't have a single clue who you were!"

"I didn't know any of that, at least not until we were already half at it, remember?" Arthur replies.

"So you thought I had just brazenly started flirting with the boss' son?"

Arthur just shrugs, smiling an easy smile. It's infuriating. Merlin huffs, grabbing his bag from the locker. "Anyway, it was a mistake. I guess the entire bloody staff knows by now, but—"

"But?"

Merlin scowls. "Hopefully they'll get that I had no clue who you were."

"I don't think things work like that," Arthur laughs. He takes a step towards Merlin, who tenses. "So, since it's already been done and all that, shall we just continue where we left off?"

"No," Merlin replies darkly, "No way in hell."

—

"This is your fault."

Merlin hangs his head, not even bothering to defend himself. And then he hears the clattering of a new tub of dishes hurtling down the chute, and he drops the sprayer, rushing over.

Mordred is at the unloading station, cursing at Merlin as the trays hit the end, causing a complete back up on the conveyer. "We were doing just fine with three people, and then you had to go and reject the fucking prince of this hotel, and now look what happens."

"I know, I know," Merlin groans, rushing to get all the dishes on a set of trays before the next tub comes down.

"Who knows where he sent Freya, probably down to the basement to peel potatoes or something."

"I know!" Merlin slams the tray down the line, and starts spraying. He has a tension headache.

It's a couple days after Arthur's been instated as behind-the-scenes-staff manager, which puts him just above Gaius. His first act in the position was to cut the dishroom staff down to two, and whisk Freya off to somewhere in the unknown.

Merlin finds some masochistic joy in knowing the staff probably thought he was going to get all the preferential treatment one has coming from fucking the boss, only to have Arthur come up with new and brilliant ways to make each day shit.

After cutting the dishroom to two, suddenly it was declared that having a radio on was bad work ethic, and now the hours passed by in mind-numbing silence.

Overwhelmed, Merlin starts spraying the dishes erratically, getting water everywhere. "This is just bullshit," he snarls, "Who does this?"

"A spoiled asshole son of a rich man."

"Yeah." Merlin leans back, staring up at the molding ceiling. He draws in a calming breath. "I should have known too, he was a total dick about wanting to top." There's no reply, and he looks over to see Mordred staring at him flatly. With a laugh, Merlin goes back to spraying.

After a few minutes, he feels a tap on his shoulder, and he looks around to see a waiter standing behind him, looking grim. "There's a special request."

"...what?"

"You've been requested to wait on table six."

Suspicion hits him. "I'm not a wait—who's at table six?"

The waiter quirks an eyebrow. "Like you don't know. Anyway, I'm supposed to take over for you."

Sighing with resignation, Merlin unties his plastic apron. He's almost out of the dishroom when Mordred catches his arm. "Uh, look—" he says slowly, "It's not like I care what happens to you, or anything, but just a heads up. All of Arthur's rich asshole friends are at the hotel this week."

Merlin's mouth drops. "And..." he chokes out.

"And, don't feel ambushed or anything. He's probably got them all out there right now."

The horrified look on Merlin's face must have inspired some sympathy, because Mordred pats him on the shoulder. "Go on, then."

Nodding, Merlin heads towards the restaurant.

—

He hasn't actually been inside the restaurant yet, and he's thrown off by how dark it is. All of the tables are filled with large, fancy parties of well-dressed people. Silverware clinks against plates, people laugh, and Merlin is utterly lost.

Before coming in, he had grabbed a busboy, asking where table six was, and got a tart "Section one," which meant nothing, but the busboy had slipped away before Merlin could say so.

Luckily—or maybe not—Merlin recognizes the pompous laugh booming from nearby. Gearing himself up for the trial ahead, he walks rigidly towards the table, and with each step it becomes more and more apparent that not finding Arthur's table would have been impossible.

There are several men circled around it, their ties loose and sleeves rolled up, their cheeks flushed. Empty wine bottles and decorative votive candles litter the table. When Merlin is standing over them, they all quiet down and lean back to observe him.

"Waiter," Arthur says, lip curled in a smirk, voice full of amusement, "Surely this establishment does not condone making patrons wait a full twenty minutes for service?"

"My apologies," Merlin says tightly, "As this would be my first time—ever—on the floor."

"Well, that's no excuse," Arthur replies, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. Threading his fingers, he rests his chin on his knuckles. "Leon, Gwaine, Percival, how do you think I should punish this waiter for his transgression?"

"You're only manager for behind-the-scenes staff!" Merlin snaps without thinking. Arthur raises his eyebrows. Shit.

"Are you not a dishwasher? Is the dishroom not behind the scenes?"

Merlin's jaw clenches. "Well, apparently I'm not a dishwasher, I'm a bloody waiter!"

One of Arthur's friends snorts. "What is it, Gwaine?" Arthur asks, his eyes never leaving Merlin.

"What's this about, Arthur?" Leon nods towards Merlin, "If he's not the one who's going to bring the food, then you should have someone else take care of that before having your fun." He says it with such a bored, matter-of-fact tone, like it's totally normal that Arthur is publically humiliating Merlin.

"Well, he does want to be a chef," Arthur laughs, looking around at the other men, "Maybe he can makes us some sandwiches."

Merlin's cheeks heat as a round of groans come from the table. Looking down, he licks his lips, his hands curling into fists. "This is too much," he grinds out, and swings around, stomping from the table. He can hear Arthur shouting after him, but he jumps into a sprint.

He's in the lobby before Arthur catches up to him, grabbing his wrist. Merlin jerks it out of Arthur's grip, stepping away from him. Breathing heavily, Arthur opens his mouth, and then seems to realize where he is. His lips tighten, and he swallows, his throat rolling. "Listen," he says quietly, "there's no reason to get upset. It's just good-natured bullying."

"That's not even a thing!" Merlin hisses, exasperated.

"Alright, alright," Arthur whispers with an urgent tone, "Just—"

"And what about the dishroom? That goes beyond bullying. Do you realize how hard it is to do all that with two people? And where the hell did you send Freya anyway?"

"I'll put her back!" Arthur says, grabbing Merlin's shoulders. "Ok?"

"Arthur?"

Arthur immediately drops his hold on Merlin, taking a step back. Uther Pendragon walks into view, looking slightly confused. "What's this about?"

"Father," Arthur says, much more smoothly than how he was speaking before. "I didn't realize you were still at the hotel."

"I don't go back to the villa until Saturday," Uther says slowly, his eyes trained on Merlin. "I know you."

Merlin is practically trembling. "I work in the dishroom, sir."

"Oh, right," Uther says vaguely, nodding. "Then what are you doing out here in the lobby? Where the guests can see you?"

"I called him out here, father," Arthur cut in, and Uther's eyes slid to him. "I just—wanted to give him a chance to see the volume of people we're dealing with."

Uther's lip curls in a way that says he knows his son is bullshitting him. He looks at Merlin again, appraising him, and then he says with a certain edge, "He's not the type you usually go for."

"Dad."

"You," Uther says directly to Merlin, his eyes narrowed, "Don't think for one second you can get anything out of this. My son is not a ladder, and he's certainly not a wallet. If I so much as hear a whisper of a sexual harassment suit, I will simply ruin your life and your reputation, understand?"

Merlin is frozen, eyes wide.

"Jesus Christ, Dad," Arthur is saying, angling himself between Uther and Merlin, but Merlin's too far retreated into his mind. This job was supposed to be the breakthrough he needed, he had been so fucking excited when he got the call. And now he had the hotel's owner aiming for him.

"I'll be going back to the dishroom, then," he says faintly, backing away. He hears Arthur calling his name, but he ignores it.

—

Freya is back at the next shift.

"They had me in the laundry room," she says with a shrug. "It's about as horrible there as it is here."

Not an hour later, a workman comes in to install a satellite radio with 300 commercial free channels, and a surround-sound speaker system. 

The next day, a new dishroom worker joins them. Suddenly, it feels like the work is cut in half with all the jobs filled properly. Mordred pats Merlin on the shoulder and says, "Hey, maybe you doing it with the boss isn't such a bad thing after all." Merlin just laughs half-heartedly.

Things get a bit dicey, when one of the sous-chefs comes in and asks Merlin if he'd like to take up an extra shift as a kitchen prep worker. Under the hawk-like gaze of Freya and Mordred, Merlin says no. When the chef leaves, Freya says, "You should just take it. Everyone gets by with connections these days, sometimes it's the only way you can."

"But—" Merlin starts.

"—but he wants his conscience clean and to know he dragged himself up the mountain with only the strength of his own blood and sweat, completely pure of heart and soul," Mordred cuts in, laughing.

"It's just a bad road to go down," Merlin says flatly, scowling at Mordred.

"He was a little shit to you," Mordred says, "See this as due payment."

"As naive and starry-eyed as it sounds to you," Merlin replies, "I really would like to earn my chops the legitimate way."

Mordred holds his hands up in defeat, and gets back to unloading the washer. "Anyway, my roommates—they're all waiters here—and I are throwing a house party, and you should come."

"What?" Merlin asks.

"What?" Mordred echoes, not looking at Merlin.

"You're inviting me to your house party?"

"Yeah, well—" Mordred trails off.

"He doesn't actually not like you," Freya says, looking over her shoulder at Merlin.

"I'm just inviting everyone!" Mordred says, "Ok? It's only nice."

"Ok," Merlin laughs, feeling less dragged down than he has in weeks.

—

"I was just worried I was going to be frozen out, or something."

"Ah, no," Mordred says, slipping his shirt on. "People aren't complete dickheads around here, mostly they thought it was funny until they saw how he treated you."

"Uther is terrifying."

Mordred snorts, zipping his fly. "That's for damn sure." He shoulders his bag and turns to look at Merlin. "Coming?"

Nodding, Merlin follows him out the employee exit. He just notices Arthur leaning against a rather expensive looking car right when Mordred says, "I'll text you the directions to my house."

They're a few yards off, but close enough for Arthur to hear it. He looks down at the ground, maybe to pretend he hasn't noticed Merlin and Mordred walking out. "Uh, yeah, ok," Merlin says, "I'll see you there."

But Mordred's already taken note of Arthur, and grins. "Yeah, sure," he says playfully, "It's gonna be a lot of fun." He walks off towards the employee parking lot, and Merlin is left standing there. After a moment, he decides not to acknowledge Arthur, but he only gets a few steps before Arthur says, "Merlin, wait."

Drawing in a breath, Merlin pauses, and then walks over to Arthur. "What?"

"Still mad?"

Merlin narrows his eyes. "It's fine."

Nodding, exhaling with bitter amusement, Arthur drops his head. "I'm sorry, yeah? It was a childish way to react to rejection..." After a second, he finishes with, "And I talked to my dad, so don't worry about that."

"What makes you think I won't try to sue you?" Merlin asks coldly.

Arthur nods again with a defeated air, sliding down against the car a little. "Go ahead, if you want."

"I don't," Merlin looks to the side, sighing. "Anyway, I've got to—"

Arthur snatches the hem of Merlin's shirt, tugging at it. "Go to that guy's house?" He straightens up, looming close to Merlin. "I could fuck you right here in my car, if you're just horny."

Drawing back, Merlin snorts. "You'd do me such a great favor? How generous."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't want to get in some squabble with you," Merlin says flatly, "I just want to do my job, and not have to worry about this. Even if you did apologize, you still did it in the first place, and seriously, who the hell is that immature?"

Arthur runs his hand through his hair. "Alright," he says quietly, "I get it." And with that, he gets into his car and drives off.

—

In the next two years, they almost have sex once. It was because they were both smashed at Gaius' retirement party, but Mordred had barged into the coat room at the last second, breaking the tension, and Merlin had asked him to help him stumble out of there.

He had left Arthur looking deflated on a pile of coats.

It's when Merlin has finally been authorized to enter the forbidden zone between the ovens and the prep table that his iron will really starts to chip. Arthur is promoted, taking up most of Uther's responsibilities, and although rumors of his playful nature never flag, he does conduct himself quite well while on the job.

He somehow manages to leave a rose in Merlin's locker every day. Which only serves as means for Mordred to mock Merlin tirelessly. "Just let him do you," Mordred crows, bopping Merlin on the head with the flower.

But it's not until Merlin is firmly registered at the culinary institute as a part-time student that he starts lingering at the lobby desk after shifts.

A month later, and he's being pounded into the mattress.

Arthur's hand curls around Merlin's chin, turning his head to the side so Arthur can lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to buy you a new car," Arthur says hotly.

"Fuck you," Merlin grinds out, only it's more of a gasp, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Maybe a yacht. You want a yacht, Merlin?"

"Seriously, I will kill you."

Arthur shoves down on his back, forcing him to collapse on the bed, riding forward with each thrust. Merlin hugs a pillow to his face to stifle his moans.

"Maybe I'll just start adding money to your bank account every day," Arthur says smoothly, lifting Merlin's hips up more, nudging at his thighs to get him to spread his legs. "What if I give you so much money, you're drowning in it?"

Merlin chokes on a gasp, his mouth opens as he pants. "You—so much as—give me a coupon—and we're done."

Chuckling, Arthur presses his face against Merlin's back, wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin, and pulls him up. Merlin drops his head back on Arthur's shoulder, crying out.

He's shoved back down on the mattress, Arthur's weight fully on top of him. Fingers run through his sweaty hair, scratching gently at his scalp. "I'm going to spoil you so much, Merlin," Arthur whispers into his ear. "You're going to positively hate it." 

 

END


End file.
